


Subliminal Meaning

by LunarExo



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Angst Lite, M/M, my thing(tm) at this point is almost entirely 3am tender talks, non-canonical use of magic, obligatory therion angst fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 17:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16433630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarExo/pseuds/LunarExo
Summary: Cyrus is a light sleeper. Therion takes a walk.





	Subliminal Meaning

He woke up to screaming.

By now, Cyrus was used to being roused in the night by one thing or another. Thunder and lightning one night. Howling wolves another. Several times, his own thoughts, haunted by the imagery of those dead bodies hung on the wall, the smell of rotting flesh and the sharp twang of iron. Yvon, curling and twisting into a monstrosity before his very eyes.

Screaming, however, was new.

Cyrus sat up, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as he scanned the room, trying to determine the source. What he knew was: it was close to him, and it had been a male voice. But this told him little. He continued to investigate. 

Alfyn was deep asleep—entirely unroused by any sounds whatsoever, lying on his back with arms splayed everywhere. Olberic too was unwoken, and Cyrus couldn’t help but think his snores were ‘unbending,’ chuckling to himself. Therion was… 

Therion was gone. 

The last vestiges of sleep fled him entirely as he stood up, grabbing a lantern and a dagger off the night stand. He really ought to wake the others, just in case, but he was acutely aware of how time sensitive these things could be. A minute spent trying to wake his companions could be a minute used to take Therion further from them, a minute to let him bleed out alone and afraid, and the thought made his stomach fill with ice.

Trying not to make unnecessary noise, Cyrus lit the lantern with his finger, slipping from the room as quietly as possible. The door clicked closed behind him. Quickly, he determined his best bet was to head outside, walking down the stairs of the inn.

It was late—late enough that the lobby was pitch black, and no sound came from the neighbouring tavern. There was no noise at all, really, and no sign of a struggle. Unless Therion had been knocked unconscious, Cyrus couldn’t imagine him leaving without a fuss. Not after a scream like that.

Steeling himself, he stepped out of the tavern entirely. And there, lying out on the snowbank, was Therion.

The snow around him wasn’t red with his blood, which was a relief, but Cyrus still rushed to his side, worried about injuries. What he got instead was Therion pointing a dagger at him, only to lower it when he realised who it was. It seemed to click into place easily after that, a frown growing on his face. “I’m fine Cyrus. Don’t worry about me, I just need some fresh air, go back inside.”

“I—I heard _screaming_ , Therion, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine Cyrus!” His voice was loud enough to rouse a nearby flock of birds, cawing as they flew from their perches. Clearly embarrassed at his outburst, Therion turned away from Cyrus, hugging his knees to himself, “it’s just a nightmare. You’ve had them before, I’ve heard you talking in your sleep. We all have them. Did you know H’aanit takes Linde out for walks when she can’t sleep? Ophilia prays. You recite Latin to yourself until you stop sounding like you want to cry. There is a lot that haunts us, Cyrus. People around us die, and we almost die, and then we get betrayed. It’s a wonder any of us can sleep at all.”

Slowly, Cyrus came to sit beside Therion, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder as he glared at the ground. He made a face, but didn’t shove him off, giving Cyrus the confidence to begin tracing gentle, deliberate shapes with his thumb. “What happened to you… It wouldn’t happen again. I—none of us—would allow such harm to fall upon you.”

“Tch. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Therion began to move away, but Cyrus grip on his shoulder grew firm, halting him. He scowled, craning his neck sharply, “If a man wants to throw me off a cliff, it isn’t especially hard—all he has to do is get a hold of me and throw.”

Cyrus hummed, drawing an easy circle with his finger. “Then I will make your fall as gentle as snow,” He tapped Therion’s shoulder decisively, a small sigil shining on his cloak. “Fresh snow—untouched by man as it is—can make a deceptively simple conduit for magic.”

For a while, they were both silent, illuminated only by pale moonlight and the muted green glow of wind magic. When Therion spoke, it was softer than before, exhaustion seeping in. “…Thank you.” Sitting up, he rest his head onto Cyrus shoulder, closing his eyes, “I don’t suppose you have magic for warmth as well, do you?”

“I am afraid not. However, there is a teapot inside, and I’d be happy to fill it.”

“…Alright. Guess it can’t hurt.” Pleased, Cyrus stood, offering a hand to Therion so they could both stand, dusting snow off them both.

~*~*~*~

Ophilia woke at the crack of dawn, sunlight shining in her window hitting her face just right to rouse her. Thirsty, she made her way downstairs in the hopes of finding some fresh water to drink. What she found instead was almost better.

Cyrus was sitting in an oversized chair in the inn’s living room. Therion was curled up almost comically compact in his arms, snoring loud enough for even Ophilia to hear. A blanket covered them both, and a teapot with two empty cups sat on the low table in front of them. There was something innocent about the sight, Ophilia covering her mouth to silence a delighted giggle as she backed up, giving them some privacy.

**Author's Note:**

> cyrus doesnt even like tea he just knows saying that will make him look like a dumbass so he fakes it


End file.
